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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/26063575">What You Love You Must Love Now</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account'>orphan_account</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Magnus Archives (Podcast)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Cuddling &amp; Snuggling, Fluff and Smut, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Nesting, Non-Traditional Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Omega Jon, Pining, Set in Episodes 159-160 | Scottish Safehouse Period (The Magnus Archives), That is all, Vaginal Sex, all that good stuff, alpha Martin, this is just 4k words of jon loving on martin</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-08-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 11:41:50</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,263</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/26063575</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Martin's been acting a little differently these days, and Jon's sure he can figure out why.<br/>...<br/>Martin goes into long-overdue rut at the safehouse.<br/>Jon is determined to be there for him.<br/>There's entirely too much yearning, but things work out beautifully.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Martin Blackwood/Jonathan "Jon" Sims | The Archivist</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>345</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Collections:</b></td><td>Rusty Kink</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>What You Love You Must Love Now</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Title from the track of the same name by The Six Parts Seven.<br/>Based on <a href="https://rusty-kink.dreamwidth.org/1380.html?thread=470116#cmt470116">this prompt</a> from the Rusty Quill Kink Meme. I didn't follow it all the way, and it definitely ended up way more sappy than planned, but I'm happy with the results!!</p><p>All my love to Bloodsbane and aunt_zelda for looking over this &lt;3 their advice was invaluable!</p><p>The words I use for Jon's equipment are cock, folds, and cunt.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Jon stared at the beams above the bed and considered the facts he had available. </p><p>Martin had been acting unusual for a few days now, and Jon didn’t know why. <em> Knowing </em>wasn’t an option.</p><p>He’d explained it away as anxiety at first—and Jon wouldn’t pretend he didn’t understand it perfectly, that need to confirm Martin was still there in the cottage with him, particularly on those days the sun never rose and the surrounding hills remained drowned in fog. He could hardly find fault with Martin for that. As much as he wanted to reassure Martin he’d be here for him, Jon didn’t want to disturb their peace by promising something he Knew he couldn’t guarantee.</p><p>It took him a bit, but when he noticed that Martin always found a way to be in the same room as him, he didn’t mention it. It was comforting, knowing Martin was just a few steps away, the sound of turning pages or pencil on paper a regular reassurance. Occasionally he’d pipe up about something he’d just read, or something he’d seen in the village, and they’d talk a little. Sometimes, in the evenings, they’d sit on the settee in front of the fireplace, careful to keep a point of contact between them. It had started with laced fingers; now, Jon spent many comfortable evenings napping with his head pillowed on Martin’s thighs, and Martin had curled up against his side once, hesitant but willing to try. </p><p>(It wasn’t enough. Jon wanted to hold him, kiss him, make up for all the time he’d lost; he wanted to watch those dear freckles across his cheeks grow darker when he blushed. But Jon wouldn’t—<em>couldn’t</em>—do anything Martin wasn’t ready for.)</p><p>Anxiety couldn’t have been all of it, though. He’d justified the next odd thing as a side effect of being wrenched from Peter’s influence, but Jon didn’t need to Know a thing to know he was off the mark there too. Besides, Martin had always been good with lower temperatures, even before the chilling grasp of the Lonely. Jon truly had no good reason for why Martin had piled their bed high with every duvet and pillow in the cottage, but he certainly hadn’t seemed to mind Jon making himself comfortable under some of them. Even if this new arrangement left them with little space in between their bodies.</p><p>Not that Jon was complaining. There were few things he could say he enjoyed more—so much it made him wonder, sometimes, if he wasn't somehow taking advantage of the situation. Tonight was one of those times; Martin had manoeuvred himself quite close, his arm unconsciously thrown over Jon’s waist, his face near enough for Jon to feel each exhale gently brush his skin. His scent curled around him, warm and sweet and peaceful in sleep—<em>vanilla, creamy anisic note, 6-ethoxyprop</em>—no, that was quite enough Knowing for now. He had to try harder<em>. </em> The Eye would Watch, but it wasn’t welcome to these thoughts; Martin was<em> his </em>to behold<em>. </em></p><p>Jon sighed at the thought and squeezed his eyes shut. It was… <em> difficult, </em>to not think like that. He wished it were true, of course: he wished he could turn to face Martin, move until they were pressed up against each other, an unbroken line from collar to shin; he wanted to push his nose into the soft skin under Martin’s ear and breathe in until his head spun and his heart hurt. </p><p>Jon had no illusions about it not hurting. It felt like swallowing glass to admit as much, but Martin wasn’t<em> his </em>alpha, and he might never be. Jon ought to feel content that he had this much. And yet...</p><p>He was interrupted in his self-pity by a quiet, unhappy noise from Martin himself. Jon turned just as Martin’s arm tightened around him and pulled him in close. His scent grew softer, heavier: clearly intended to comfort, and a little too rich to be purely platonic. Jon froze, not sure whether to lean in or try to move away. He should be moving away, right? Lines were being crossed here; unintentionally, maybe, but he was awake and Martin<em> wasn’t— </em></p><p>Martin’s hand settled between his shoulder blades, and he let out the smallest of discontented hums, and Jon’s resolve crumbled. He curled eagerly into the warm knit of Martin’s jumper, shut his eyes, and let the soothing smell of his alpha wrap him in a duvet of its own.</p><p>It felt just as good as he’d hoped.</p><p>…</p><p>Jon sat at the table with his head pillowed in his arms, watching Martin make breakfast at the old-fashioned stove. Martin always cooked, and he did it well. (Certainly better than anything Jon could scrape up—and he<em> would </em>be scraping by the end of it. All his more successful recipes involved microwave ovens for a reason.) </p><p>Martin seemed to be in relatively good spirits today. He was whistling a little tune as he fried up the eggs. His movements were lively, a long way from anything Forsaken, and he radiated a contentment that made Jon feel at ease. The day was overcast, with little sun and less warmth <em> (an average of 12°C, showers expected in the evening)</em>, but he couldn’t feel the chill where he sat. </p><p>He shut his eyes and soaked in the sounds around him. The crackling of the wood in the stove, the sizzle of an egg being cracked into a frying pan, the barely perceptible buzzing of the ancient lamp overhead. Martin's voice, the occasional step to and fro, the soft clatter of cutlery. A quietly murmured "Now where could that mug be?" and a "There we go!" shortly after. Jon hid his face in his arms, not trusting his ability to hide how he felt. This just gave him a noseful of Martin, sweet and rich from last night, and as he breathed in he found himself relaxing.</p><p>"Jon?" Martin was standing by the table now. He felt tentative fingers land on his shoulder. "Are you asleep?"</p><p>"I'm up," said Jon, straightening a little, looking up at Martin. "Just a, ah—" The words stuck in his throat. He'd<em> never </em>seen Martin like this before, his pupils so large against the grey of his eyes. A few things were starting to make a surprising amount of sense, percolating slowly through the haze in his head, but confirming any of them would be difficult to do delicately. The weight of Martin’s hand on his shoulder certainly wasn’t helping, and the thumb gently resting on Jon’s collarbone was slowly driving rational thought from his mind. </p><p>“You’ve figured out what’s happening to me, haven’t you,” said Martin, quietly. His tone was unreadable.</p><p>Jon opened his mouth, then closed it. The hand on his shoulder had barely moved before Jon had one of his own hands over it, pressing it down. A strange expression flickered over Martin’s face, but he didn’t argue. “I—I <em> think </em> I have, yes.” The bed had been the biggest hint, really; it was hard to<em> not </em>see a nest now that he looked at it. (And he'd accepted it readily. He wouldn’t have refused it had he known what it was—just the thought of it, a <em> nest, </em> a nest for <em> them, </em>somewhere to curl up together and love each other silently—)</p><p>Martin exhaled long and glanced out the window. “Right. I <em> have </em>been trying, you know."</p><p>Jon blinked, pulled back into reality. "Wait, what did you think I was going to say?" He shook his head. "No, it doesn't matter. Did you run out of suppressants?"</p><p>Martin finally looked back at him, though it was obvious his thoughts were elsewhere. The silence dragged on for several more seconds before Martin laughed, suddenly, startlingly. "What? No!" He sounded more insistent than confident. "The Lonely, it takes that away from you. I haven't had a, a <em> rut," </em>and here he blushed, "in eight? Nine months."</p><p>Jon hadn’t known that about those allied with the Lonely—<em>no wonder </em>Peter had never smelled of anything past the expensive perfume—and he pushed it to the back of his mind to consider with appropriate horror later. He looked entreatingly at Martin, who just sighed and dragged over a chair. Jon missed the hand on his shoulder as soon as he let it go.</p><p>Martin didn’t speak right away. “I thought you were talking about—I thought it was withdrawal, you know? From leaving. From letting go of Forsaken. I thought that was why everything seemed so—<em>intense.” </em>He laughed without humour, his eyes fixed on the grain of the table, and his next words were muttered. “Not sure which one’s worse.”</p><p><em> He has never believed you would be interested, </em> provided the Beholding, using Jon’s unhappy surprise and momentary loss of control to insinuate itself behind his eyes. <em> Withdrawal would have given him something to blame. </em>Jon blinked hard, momentarily angry at himself for Knowing, definitely a little upset with Martin for coming to these conclusions on his own. </p><p>Martin looked at him questioningly. “Jon?” He seemed to still be hyper-aware of changes in Jon’s emotions, and doubtlessly also affected powerfully with the imperative to soothe or solve any problems. It was a good sign, another indicator of his interest; it certainly increased the likelihood that Jon’s next moves would be taken well. </p><p>Because Jon <em>had </em>to do something. He needed Martin to know he didn't have to tough it out alone. He needed Martin to know he was there for him. He had no illusions of all his motives being pure, of course—an equally strong part of him wanted to see Martin happy and sated, to find out what made him blush and squirm and make his sweet noises, to Behold this hidden part of him and love it too— </p><p>Jon stood and moved closer to Martin, lightly pressing down on his shoulders to keep him seated when he, too, made to stand. Martin looked up at him, those large pupils drinking him in, waiting for him to speak. “Tell me what you want,” he started, smoothing down the arms of Martin's jumper. His comfort came first. “If you need suppressants, I’ll go down to the village for some. But if you’d prefer to spend it here, I—” He swallowed. Martin’s eyes tracked the movement of his throat. “I want you to spend it with me.” </p><p>Martin flushed again, reddening from the tips of his ears and down his neck. His expression was disbelieving at first, but then it slowly began to change into something hesitant, even hopeful. “J-Jon.” A breath. “Are you saying—”</p><p><em> “Yes,” </em>said Jon, emphatically. He brought his hands up to cradle Martin’s face, meet those widening eyes; his skin was blush-warm and new-shaved smooth, and his lips were parted, pink and trembling—</p><p>Martin covered Jon’s hands with his own. “You don’t need to,” he said.</p><p>How did Jon put it into words? How did he tell him that seeing him happy and content made<em> him </em>feel happy and content in turn? “I want to,” insisted Jon. </p><p>He was soft, so soft, and he whimpered when Jon kissed him. A scent filled the air between them, something rich and intoxicating—there was no suppressing the rut now, and there was no need to. Jon felt Martin’s hands clutch gently at his waist and draw him forward, and he straddled Martin to make the angle easier on his neck. </p><p>Well, not<em> entirely </em>for that reason. Martin squeaked and broke the kiss when Jon settled himself, though his hands tightened their hold. “Jon, <em> Jon.”  </em></p><p>“Mm?” Jon smiled indulgently at him. “Yes?”</p><p>“Are you—don’t we need to <em> talk </em> first?” Martin looked about as enthusiastic about talking as Jon was at the moment, but it was thoughtful of him.  “About protection—that sort of thing? Anything, anywhere I shouldn’t—” He broke off, blushing even harder, his face open and earnest. Jon couldn't help it: he leaned in and set a peck on the end of his nose. <em> “Jon.” </em></p><p>The sudden sharpness in Martin’s tone combined with the rut-scent swimming in Jon’s head to make him shiver pleasantly. “There’s no risk,” he said, Knowing it was true. Even if he hadn’t been regular with his prophylactic shots, the Beholding was unlikely to allow it of its Archivist. Jon knew this shouldn’t have felt as freeing as it did. </p><p>“You<em> would </em>know,” murmured Martin, cutting cleanly through his thoughts, and Jon dove back in for more kisses. Martin’s hands slid up under his pullover, his fingers broad lines of heat against the skin of his back. Jon moved so they were chest to chest, his arms slung around Martin’s shoulders. The shift of his hips made Martin gasp, and Jon eagerly licked into his mouth.  </p><p>He shifted again, grinding down against Martin, feeling him grow hard. Martin grabbed his arse to hold him in place, both casually possessive and forceful at once, and frotted up against him at<em> just </em>the right angle. Jon felt arousal tugging at him; he knew he’d find himself growing wet if he checked—and so did Martin, going by the way he broke the kiss and hid his face in Jon’s neck, breathing in deep and sighing shakily on the exhale. </p><p>Jon pushed his hands into Martin’s hair—so soft, so bright against his fingers—and dropped little kisses on all the skin he could reach. When he got to where Martin’s scent was strongest, he flicked his tongue across it to taste, curious. Bitter-sweet, rich, like the memory of warm drinks before a fire while the snow piled up outside.</p><p>"Not doing this here," said Martin, his voice hoarse. "Hold on." He stood, his hands supporting Jon's weight with apparent ease. Jon locked his legs around Martin's hips and smiled against the stubble on his jaw. He didn't often register the omega part of himself, but now it purred pridefully over his choice of alpha. That satisfaction had always seemed rather crude to him, <em> bestial, </em>almost... save, of course, for when he was up to the gills in it, and it seemed the clearest, most obvious way to feel. </p><p>And Jon<em> was </em>proud of Martin. He was so proud of him, and he loved him so much.</p><p>They were in the bedroom now, and Martin sat down on the edge of the bed. Jon glanced at their nest, still messy and rich with last night’s scents, and remembered waking to Martin puttering around the room doing Morning Person Things. He wondered how <em> Martin </em>had found him when he’d risen, given how they’d been curled up around each other at night. </p><p>Jon was startled out of his thoughts when Martin gently kissed the scent spots on his neck, sending sensation arcing down his spine to pool between his legs. Martin's hands ran up and down his back, his sides; slipping under his clothes once more, tracing his shoulder blades and the bumps of his backbone. The attention was slightly overwhelming after so long; his breath came out shaky, dizzied.</p><p>Martin rolled his hips up, and Jon felt his bulge drag hard and hot between his legs, just enough to tease. Did Martin know he was being a tease? Jon pushed him back down on the bed and clambered over him so they were face to face. Martin was flushed, and he looked up at Jon like he'd hung the stars. It was almost painful to be looked at like that, but the part of him that belonged to the Beholding<em> reveled </em>in it, drank it in and asked for more.</p><p>He sat back over Martin's middle, tugged off his pullover, and tossed it to one side. Martin's hands were immediately on his skin, gathering him close, moving so Jon was closer to the centre of the nest and mostly under him.</p><p>It was an excellent place to be. Martin got back to work with his hands and his lips, his fingers running down his ribs and scratching softly at the concavity of his stomach, his mouth sucking bruises into the skin of his chest, gently dropping kisses over his navel. Together with the rut-scent in his nose and the feeling of having his alpha over him, taking care of him—the sensations mixed into a buzz in his head, and Jon found himself rubbing his thighs together, so wet from his own slick he could<em> hear </em>himself moving. </p><p>Martin, who’d apparently heard too, moved lower and nosed at his crotch, mouthing at the fabric over his mons. His hands were at Jon’s waistband, and it took only a little wriggling to get his joggers and pants off. Martin reverently spread his legs and made room for himself. He dropped kisses up his inner thighs and then looked up at Jon, eyes dark and hungry, absently rubbing his cheek against the sensitive skin. His breath was warm against Jon’s entrance. “You’re so wet, Jon. You smell incredible.” His voice was throaty, with more of a burr to it than usual. </p><p>Jon had had something to say in response. He was sure of it. But then Martin kissed him over his folds, an open-mouthed, sucking, filthy-sounding thing that made Jon howl and buck his hips. Martin hummed in a pleased sort of way and continued with his attentions, kissing and licking at his folds, making Jon's cock twitch and his body shake. He could tell Martin was listening carefully for the way Jon's breathing hitched when he found something particularly lovely, and soon he had Jon trembling under him. </p><p>Jon tried to prop himself up on his elbows, to look at Martin, perhaps kiss him with Jon's taste on his lips; Martin suckled on his cock, and he shuddered on limbs weak with molten pleasure and fell back onto the pillows. He'd seen enough, though; he'd seen Martin rutting against the bed. He was still in all his clothes, too. That wouldn't do. </p><p>Martin was still focused on his cock, teasing the hood, flicking the head lightly with his tongue. "Martin!" His hands were in his alpha's hair. "Martin, please." He tugged, perhaps ungently. "I want--"</p><p>"Yeah?" asked Martin, following it up with another kiss to his mons, as though reluctant to leave.</p><p>Jon let his legs fall open even wider and beckoned Martin up, hoping he came across clearly.</p><p>Martin's eyes widened and he promptly scrambled to shuck off his own clothes. There was a wet spot against the front of his pants, where he'd leaked through. He shoved them down; his cock was<em> thick, </em>with a pronounced curve and a vein running heavy down the side. The head was dripping pre and already such a hungry, hungry purple—</p><p>It was slow going—Jon was tight, even if he was dripping wet enough to mark the sheets, and he knew Martin wouldn’t do anything that could possibly hurt him. Even now he was pressing reassuring little pecks to Jon’s cheeks, holding him penned in and safe in his arms. It was hard to think of anything except the rightness of Martin's weight holding him down and the heat of his alpha's skin and how deliciously<em> full </em>he felt. Jon locked his arms around Martin’s neck and kissed him deep and devoted, nipping at his lips, tonguing his mouth open. He tasted like tea and bitter cocoa. </p><p>Martin pulled out until only the head of his cock was inside Jon, and then drove forwards and into him, knocking a soft "ah!" from Jon. Martin broke their kiss and Jon saw that he was blushing pink over his cheeks and chin and chest—before he tucked his face in Jon’s neck and started marking up the skin there. He drew out and thrust in again, and again, over and over, each an achingly slow movement of flesh against slick flesh. "Martin, Martin, <em> more." </em></p><p>Martin only hmm-ed in response, sucking kisses over Jon's scent spots and soothing the skin with his tongue when Jon bucked and whimpered. He clenched down around him and Martin broke off in a groan, his hips stuttering helplessly.</p><p>"Alpha, <em> please." </em>Jon bared his neck, the place a claiming bite would go. He couldn't detect the pheromones he was giving off, but he heard Martin's sharp inhale and knew it was potent. It was a dirty trick to play, but Jon knew that. </p><p>Martin began to move with new urgency<em>, </em> pushing Jon back up against the pillows behind him and gripping him by the hips, his previous gentleness replaced with something more assertive. He began to pick up the pace, his thrusts growing faster and more forceful. The bed creaked, but it was inaudible over the wet sounds of their bodies meeting over and over, and the eager cries Jon let out every time Martin sank into him. His thighs were wet with his own slick—when Martin's grip faltered and he slipped out, Jon whined loudly in protest. </p><p>Martin chuckled and kissed him, a hungry, biting thing. His hands were ungentle on Jon’s jaw. This was a side of him Jon didn’t often get to see, and he desperately wanted to know more. "Hands and knees, love." </p><p>Jon rolled over quickly, keeping his knees apart and his arse up. Martin made a rough, helpless sound and slid back in, one arm bracing himself against the headboard, the other holding Jon up against his chest. </p><p>"Oh, <em> Jon," </em> breathed Martin, his nose in Jon's hair, and drove into him so hard he squealed. He could feel Martin's knot forming, nearly catching with every thrust. Just<em> thinking </em>about it, about Martin tying him, coming inside him—it made Jon shiver and clench down in anticipation. Martin let out a delightful noise in turn, and Jon felt lips against the shell of his ear. "Mm. <em> Mm! </em> You're all..." His hand traveled down Jon's sweat-slippery body, grabbing roughly at his chest, rubbing calloused fingers over his stomach, over his navel, in wide sweeps over his cock and his cunt, giving him the heel of his hand to grind up against. When he spoke, his tone was equal parts possessively hungry and impossibly sappy. “You’re all<em> mine, </em> Jon. <em> My </em>omega.” </p><p>Jon could barely<em> think </em>for his body's outsize reaction to those words. Between that and Martin's steadily growing knot and the sensation of his alpha’s mouth on his neck, on the skin under his ear—</p><p>It snuck up on him, almost. Jon came in blissful waves of sensation, scouring his mind empty, making him<em> writhe. </em>He might have cried out; Martin certainly did, hilting himself and grinding up into his wet heat as Jon pulsed around him. The sounds of the room then faded, leaving behind an almost imperceptible ringing, and for a few seconds he simply basked in the overstimulation that accompanied Martin’s every movement. It sent his nerves fizzing gently, just on the good side of too much. </p><p>His hearing cleared in a moment, and the thudding of his heart was drowned out once more. He’d come so much slick that every movement Martin made sounded<em> obscene</em>. <em> “Jon,” </em> cried Martin, holding him even closer, his breath warm against his neck, “Jon, <em> god, </em>I’m—”</p><p>“Knot me,” demanded Jon.</p><p>Martin keened and thrust into him a few more times, savage movements that made Jon yelp, that slammed the headboard hard against the wall. His knot swelled, tying them together, and his hips jerked weakly in place as he came, moaning sweetly into Jon’s shoulder. He collapsed on top of him and slowly rolled to one side, tucking Jon in against his front, still lost in the haze of his orgasm.</p><p>They lay there for several long minutes. Jon gently ran his fingers down Martin's forearms, relishing the feeling of being fucked full by an alpha as desirable as Martin. Was it just him or the Beholding cataloguing yet another experience? Jon didn’t feel like that mattered. Not right now, not with that knot inside him, rubbing up against all the right places. Jon didn’t quite have another orgasm in him, but he enjoyed the sensation nonetheless. </p><p>He felt it when Martin stopped spilling inside him. He sank into the pillows of their nest, panting, his muscles tensing and relaxing. Jon took one of Martin’s hands in his and gently kissed the back, right above a group of pale freckles. It would take a couple minutes for Martin’s breathing to return to something that would let him speak, but Jon wasn’t in a hurry. They would be here for a good half-hour at least, and Martin’s hand had many more freckles to visit.</p><p>“Mmn,” hummed Martin, finally. He kissed the back of Jon’s head, and Jon smiled. “I—” started Martin, and then stopped to clear his throat. He didn’t say anything after that, but he curled tighter around Jon, tangling their legs together. His scent was riotously happy and lovestruck, light and sweet and undercut by the sharper notes of his rut. </p><p>Jon knew he probably smelled the same way, but it was detecting it on <em> Martin </em>that made all the difference in the world. <em> He’d </em>made his love this happy, this content; Martin had been long overdue for some loving, and sensing how well he’d done made Jon feel buoyant. </p><p>What did he look like, Martin so relaxed and happy behind him? Had his blush traveled further down his chest? Had his expression softened in that lovely manner Jon so often found when he caught Martin looking his way? </p><p>They would be face to face next time, and Jon wouldn’t be taking his eyes off him. </p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>Thank you for reading, and I hope you liked it!<br/>Please leave a kudos or a comment if you did &lt;3</p><p>Find me at tnetennbatrash#8970 on Discord if you'd like to talk about these two (or anything TMA, really)</p></blockquote></div></div>
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